Losing Forever
by clouds2011
Summary: "Of all the days to be alone and neglected on, it had to be today." Slightly AU. Follows most aspects of the TV show. Rated M for language. One-shot.


**AN: Well, here is the b-day piece, even if it is a bit late. But yeah. My birthday was awesome(: Please let me know what you think, and feel free to point out any errors. Also, I listened to the song "Time" by Hans Zimmer on repeat while typing this out. I highly recommend listening to it, especially because the ending of the song goes wonderfully with the end of this story. That is my opinion, anyway.**

**OH! And I thought it would be cool if Damon's birthday was on 11/11. I actually have no idea when his birthday is. Just a heads up.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Vampire Diaries, even though I'd love to. I only own this plot.**

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><p><em>hu·man [hyoo-muhn or, often, yoo‐] <em>_adjective._

_1. of, pertaining to, characteristic of, or having the nature of people: human frailty._

_2. sympathetic; humane: a warmly human understanding._

_hap·pi·ness [hap-ee-nis] __noun._

_1. the quality or state of being happy._

* * *

><p>Of all the days to be alone and neglected on, it had to be today.<p>

Damon idly stares at the roaring fire, wishing he could feel its warmth on his skin again. He slowly walks over to the thermostat and lowers the temperature, pressing the buttons until the room temperature drops to a chilling 33° degrees Fahrenheit. He strolls back to the fireplace, taking his time to take a test he knows he'll fail. It's a game he always plays on this day, a game he hasn't missed his turn in on his undead years on earth. And a game he'll play until someone drives a stake through his heart, or until he walks in the sun without his ring, or simply until the world ends in a fiery hellish way.

Of course he can't feel the warmth the fireplace offers, Damon tiredly notices. He foolishly considers just sticking his hand in the damn thing, all just to feel the comforting, homely heat that he hasn't felt since 1864. Damon brushes away one of the last human memories he has of this day and pours himself a drink from the glass decanter. But of course, the unwelcome memory comes anyway.

"_Brother," Stefan greeted enthusiastically, his green eyes sparkling with excitement for his brother. He clapped his older brother's shoulder lovingly and pulled him into a hug._

_Damon laughed and the sound is happy and unrestrained. Finally, the day had arrived. Finally. He pulled away from his younger brother and winked. "So, is there something you should _not_ tell me, Stefan?"_

_Stefan sheepishly grinned and backed away. "You heard absolutely nothing from me, brother. You know Claire will send her coachman after me if she knew I breathed a word."_

_Damon flexed his arms, having built up his muscles with a rigorous diet prepared for him as he trained for the war. Their cook eagerly fixed the meals and diet designated by their father. "You must build your strength," Giuseppe had told his countless times. "We can't have you disgrace the family because you can't lift a rifle or help push the cannons."_

_Damon ignored the hurt that always surfaced whenever he thought of his father's disappointing eyes and continued the easy banter with Stefan. His father was always an off-limits topic to everyone, even Melanie, the girl he was courting. His father was, and always would be, a touchy, disappointing, depressing, and useless topic, Damon thought. _

"_We could easily take Thomas," Damon said, playfully raising his fists and sending mock jabs at his brother. Stefan returned the fun and dodged, his face set in pretend determination and concentration. Stefan smirked when he sent a wild punch to Damon, who was prancing tauntingly in front of him, and it smacked into his flat stomach._

_Damon exaggerated a look of pain and staggered, clutching his stomach. Stefan shook his head, smiling, and said, "Didn't you hear, Damon? The Forbes replaced Thomas with a much, much larger Robinson."_

_Damon stood with a large grin on his face and slung his arm around his brother's shoulders. "Then maybe we can't take him. But I'll risk your death and get the truth somehow. So what'll it be, brother," Damon said, leading his brother to the study where the brandy and other strong alcohol drinks were kept. "Choose your poison…"_

Damon wonders what would happen if he threw the glass decanter in the fireplace, if he simply threw all the expensive alcohol into the fire. As the fire exploded in reaction to the alcohol, would he finally feel the fire's strong heat then? Or would his flawless skin simply burn him?

Damon didn't bother to test out his ponderings. If anything, he'll just arouse Stefan from his brooding, self-hating thoughts from the dungeons. He gracefully flops into the comfortable antique couch and takes a sip from his bourbon, before decidedly throwing back the rest of the amber liquid in the glass.

Stefan. It was about time he had gotten his brother back three weeks ago, after having wasted all summer and September, much of October and not a day in November searching for his brother. He's overjoyed he has his brother back, don't doubt that, but he can easily tell his brother has _changed_.

The frown lines impressed upon Stefan's face since birth seem to have gotten darker, harsher, and grown in number. His green eyes sometimes hold a crazed, angry look, before he finally regains his composure and control. The days Stefan feels the most in control Damon cautiously takes him outside to munch on the innocent forest creatures, but the days his younger brother's control is barely hanging by a thread Damon dutifully locks him in the dungeons and waits. That's all he seems to do now— wait.

He waits for Stefan to slowly fall back into the non-murderous ways of his veggie diet.

He waits for Stefan to finally feel more in control to come out from his cell, then patiently waits for his brother to finish apologizing, then finish his tirade of more self-hate before he finally collapsed mute.

And then Damon waits for his brother's tears to stop after a harmless comment Damon said because he was so _sure_ Stefan would laugh and then waits for Stefan to finally admit that after all this, he still needs and loves his brother.

As Stefan would cry on his shoulder, Damon could only think about how they this over a hundred years ago, Damon desperately trying to fill the void their mother's death left in Stefan. Desperately trying to stay strong, not because Giuseppe said to, not even for _himself_, but so that Stefan wouldn't have to face the hard years practically alone, with only a brother and father broken over his mother's—a woman that a young Stefan could barely remember— death.

Then Stefan would finally stop and apologize again, knowing that Damon was thinking of the very distant past. Stefan knew his brother exceptionally well, and likewise. They had known the best ways to cheer each other up, whether it was letting the sad one win in football or letting him pull ahead in their races. It even could have been helping the other sneak out to secretly steal kisses from the respectable girls they offered their courtship.

Damon would always brush off the apology, claiming that's simply what he's there for: to comfort baby brother.

Stefan would always crack a weak smile at this and would ask if they could go hunting. Rain or shine, Damon always agreed. It wasn't like he could feel the sun's rays anyway.

Then he wondered how long he would have to wait for his brother to be better. To finally be strong enough to function without Damon.

So Damon just waits. He waits for Stefan to begin to heal after the horrible summer Klaus sent him through; he waits for Stefan to finally move on. And while he waits a silent countdown in slowly ticking down in his mind, refusing to be ignored.

And every day Damon sees her, her eyes quickly shifting past him to Stefan. To his struggling younger brother, to the one person that still trusted him and relied so heavily on him. Damon would always shrug past this and either point upstairs, if it was a good day, or downstairs, which, thankfully he had to do less and less, to let her know where Stefan was.

She would always nod, when before she simply had so much to say to him. Whether it was a condescending comment regarding his undead existence or a playful, light-hearted one, sweetly responding to his goading comment.

Damon stands when he hears the door quietly open, and he flashes over to her. Elena doesn't even jerk in surprise and only stares up at him with a tired and haggard look, a look Stefan always reflected.

"Damon," she says in greeting, giving him a small smile before stepping around him. Damon follows with his eyes before quickly moving in front of her once more.

"Elena," he says smoothly, gazing down into her eyes. She stares up at him, confused. Dread fills Damon and he wonders that after all this she actually _forgot_. But along with this dread builds up hope and excitement, and he eagerly wonders if there is a much bigger surprise in store for later that night. Inwardly he groans, though, wondering why now of all times he's as excited about this day as he was when he was a young little boy.

"Damon?" she repeats, her voice rising slightly in the end, making his name an unsure question.

Damon rolls his eyes and excitedly— not that he will ever admit it— wonders if they'll have to do this the hard way. He grins. The more fun way.

"Do you know what today's date is, Elena?" he asks slowly, wanting to draw it out to see her try to hide her guilt at having been caught from her eyes. He's been around a while; he can easily notice these certain shifts in people's expressions. But he isn't prepared for the genuine puzzlement that lights her eyes as she desperately tries to remember the date and any significance it may have. The hope in his heart slowly fizzles as she shrugs her shoulders, defeated, and says, "I don't know, Damon. Is it the tenth?"

Exasperation and her tiredness finally creep up to Elena and she throws her hands in the air, her bag swinging to her shoulder. The dark circles under her eyes seem more pronounced then usual, and Damon suspiciously wonders when the last time she slept through the whole night undisturbed was. He pushes past that thought, though, finally placing himself first for once when it came to her. After all, it was his day to be selfish.

"What month are we even in?" she tiredly asks, watching him with her frustrated dark eyes.

Damon stumbles back when the hope and excitement in him completely die and he stares at her, his light blue eyes barely masking hurt. The bewilderment in her brown eyes scares him, and he wonders if _anyone_ actually remembers.

"It's November 11th," Damon says softly, his chest aching more than it should. Elena's face slowly lights up and Damon foolishly wonders that maybe this is all a clever trick, one to throw him off track and confuse him.

"Oh," Elena says delightedly, although her slight distraction still can't hide the bags under her eyes, "That makes it 11/11/11! That's really amazing, Damon!"

The dejected feeling sinks back into his stomach and he knows, of course, that he's been forgotten. Just like last year. And the countless years before that when no one simply cared enough to try to track him down.

"Yeah," he says hollowly, "It's pretty fucking _sweet_."

Elena frowns at his sudden mood shift and peers at him closely. "Damon? Are you okay?"

Then the panic sets in her face and Damon _knows _that this time it's because she realized her mistake in forgetting the date. He prepares to arrange his features in a cocky, smug, forgiving smirk that will make her sheepishly smile and promise an extra-awesome present later.

Then he'd lick his lips and inch closer to her, huskily whispering how he'd rather have her instead… And she would blush profusely and give him a catty grin back before playfully pushing him away and laughing beautifully at his jokes. They both would know that he wasn't joking, and when she would walk away he'd whisper loud enough that she heard it that one day she would be his…

…And she would flush and glance quickly at him, before finally leaving, still refusing to accept the bold truth of his words. It was a long, ugly cycle, but one that had to constantly be repeated to finally ease her acceptance of the "us" he's convinced they both know they share.

But her words end that alternate universe, and instead bring him back to the harsh gray one he lives in now.

"Is Stefan okay?" Her voice is high, intense fear spiking her voice to a squealing level. Her words hit him straight through the chest, her concern for his brother spiking the familiar jealousy in him. Then her squeal hits him in his mind, which hurts even more as he finally makes sense of everything. It only causes more pain to his chest, and overall he'd rather risk one of Judgey-Sabrina the Vengeful Witch's supernatural headaches. Because after all this time, he finally realizes the truth.

There was never really a definite "us" between them. Simply forbidden thoughts from one party and unrequited love from the other. And after all the crap he's taken, this is simply too freaking much.

"Stefan's fine," he uncharacteristically snaps at her, his voice malicious. She blinks at him in surprise; he's never used that tone with her before. It was always the others, and no matter how furious he got with her he never raised his voice and spat his words with such disdain.

"Well if Stefan's not the problem," she finally says, still slightly shocked, "then what's with you, Damon? What's gotten into you?"

Damon leans over her quickly, his blue eyes blazing steadily. "Unlike you," he hisses angrily, "my pathetic existence does not revolve around baby brother. Excuse me if prefer to circle around the sun than a vampire."

Elena's eyes flash angrily and she flushes. "What the hell, Damon? You have no right—"

"I have every right!" Damon shouts, finally reaching his breaking point. "I sacrificed so much to save you— to save Stefan in _your_ lifetime when I could have just waited ten more years to save him! Ten years is nothing to us!"

Her eyes are wide and quickly fill with something he can't identify. It's a reluctant mix between pride, anger, and… hate? Gratefulness? Forgiveness?

"And you can't seem to remember the one thing I counted on you to remember," Damon continues to yell. "Your world may be tied solely to Stefan," he says, lowering his voice slightly. It still doesn't lose the cold, calculated edge to it. "But mine isn't. I don't have to wait around every day of my pitiful life—"

Before he can finish his long overdue tirade her hand darts out and slaps him across his face, her hand connecting so hard with his jaw that his face actually moves an inch or two. She's breathing heavily and her eyes are livid with anger as she glares at him.

Then there is a moment of silence as they both realize what they've done. She's hit him, even after he told her to never try that again. And he let his most private emotions show: the heartbreak, confusion, need, and pain. He finally let someone know what he was feeling, and just as when he finally confessed to Giuseppe, all he received was a hard slap to the face and harsh words.

"What is wrong with you, Damon?" Her words aren't angry, but her voice is fuming.

Damon pushes past her, unable to look at her any longer. He hates her, he hates that he let someone else have that kind of power over him: twisting his emotions and making him do irrational and stupid things. After Giuseppe he learned to only trust himself. After Katherine he learned to not give himself away fully. After Elena he's not sure he'll recover.

But he knows now that no one will ever care about him in that way, not as much as he always does. It will always be Stefan, no matter who it is. He's long past hating his brother and harboring jealousy for him, because he knows that in his unnaturally long life Stefan will be all that's left for him. The only person who probably ever cared about him after his mother died.

"Where are you going, Damon?" Her shrill voice cuts through his thoughts. He whirls to face her one hand holding his leather jacket the other clutching the door handle. She's still breathing heavily and in that moment Damon unwillingly thinks she's beautiful. Flushed with anger, eyes bright, hair out of place.

She's perfect. And he hates it.

"Out," he snaps, glaring at her, daring her to say something. She accepts the challenge.

"You can't—" she starts, but he quickly cuts her off.

"I can do whatever I damn well please," he says angrily, his voice dropping to a hiss, "and you especially can't tell me what to do today, Elena."

He almost can't believe she rises to the bait but her anger is momentarily replaced with confusion.

"What's so special about today?"

He gives a hollow laugh, drained of feeling anger, hurt, anything. He can't do this. Not today. Not now. Not with _her_.

"Didn't you hear, Elena? Today's my birthday. Don't worry. I've learned not to expect anything from anyone a long time ago," he snarls, his eyes hard and bright, successfully silencing her and ending their conversation. "And I've especially learned to expect absolutely nothing from you."

She just stands there, her anger and confusion gone, guilt, horror, and shame in its place. He takes her look of horror as his cue to leave, and Damon yanks the door open, stepping out to head to his second home, The Mystic Falls Grill. He slams it shut, the sound echoing in the quiet house.

_Didn't you hear?_

_It's my fucking birthday._

_Don't worry._

_You let me down a long time ago._

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><p>It's only just past three p.m., he notes dejectedly, throwing back the bottle. The liquid burns all the way down. Alaric pitifully wonders how he came to this— wrapped up in mourning his staked vampire girlfriend. He drunkenly realizes it all started with Isabelle. Her and her damn need to find something <em>more<em>, something past their happy and ordinary life. A life he had found completely fulfilling. It was all his ex-wife's fault.

He laughed emptily, recognizing the truth in his words. If she had been content, she wouldn't have left him. She wouldn't have willing turned. Instead she would stay. Then he wouldn't be involved in this crazy vampire bullshit and wouldn't have to stay trapped in a creepy house by the power of some teenage girl's freaking _magic_ while his girlfriend was sacrificed on an altar for an insane vampire ritual.

Alaric raises the glass to his lips again. He chugs it down and calls for the bartender who only ignores his order and slides him water with a lemon in it.

"I'm cutting you off, Alaric," he warns before turning away to other customers. The Grill was unnecessarily crowded today, and he half-heartedly remembers its 11/11/11. Fun.

He takes a sip from his water when the chair next to him shifts. "Damon," he says pleasantly.

Damon turns his intense stare on Alaric and the human shifts unconsciously in his seat at the intimidating glare the vampire sent his way. Alaric feels slightly uneasy, and notices the angry look in Damon's eyes. He can already guess the problem.

"Elena?" he asks quietly. Damon doesn't respond and turns to the bartender to order a drink. His favorite, bourbon. Instead a muscle twitches in his jaw, and Alaric realizes he is spot on. But how did Elena upset him? The two had sort of reached an agreement to wait to discuss whatever they felt needed to be discussed after Stefan was more stable. Why break that agreement now?

Then it hit him. Something must have happened to Stefan, and then Elena went off the rails too. "Is it Stefan?" Alaric asks, just as Damon throws back the amber contents of his glass. The vampire choked at his question, but in no time fixed the angry gaze back on him.

"And why the hell would you think that, Alaric?" he snaps. Alaric frowns and tries to appease his friend.

"Damon—"

"Just shut the hell up, Ric," Damon says furiously.

Alaric's frown deepens. "You don't have to be a dick—"

"Don't tell me how to live my life," Damon says coldly, standing up. He tosses a few bills on the bar and turns to Alaric once more. "You are all pretentious assholes that can't do one freaking thing for me but expect me to sacrifice my lifestyle to save your ungrateful lives. Well you know what?" Damon says, laughing a cruel cold laugh, "I quit."

Alaric didn't know what brought on the angry reaction to a simple question, but he is sure that whatever it is Damon will tell him when he's ready. Or just add it to the steadily increasing list of unexpressed emotions Damon is keeping. But at being called an ass only makes him feel worse on a day he feels like crap already. And he can't help it— he lashes out at his friend in a drunken anger, the only way either of them can remember how to express their pain.

"What the hell's got your panties in a wad, Damon?" he calls after him. "You're usually not a dick before nine."

Damon turns around once, his blue eyes still staring Alaric down in an unsettling way, even from across The Grill.

"It's my birthday," the cold vampire deadpans, before finally flipping his longtime friend the finger. Alaric stares after him, the guilt building up.

He should have known.

Instead of running out and apologizing he only accepts his defeat and drops back in the bar chair, dazedly wondering how he became such a failure.

A new bartender comes about ten minutes later, the perky girl's shift finally having started. Alaric quickly orders another heavy alcohol drink, and only a few moments later his friend's birthday is forgotten once more as the history teacher loses himself in the booze, the past, and extreme self-pity.

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><p>Caroline, the huge party planner, had absolutely nothing to contribute and was too eager to resume sucking face with her dog of a boyfriend to care, Judgey gave him the look that always said, "I hope you go to hell," and was only reserved for him, he'd like to think (just because he's <em>that<em> special), and Jeremy was the only one who apologized. Apparently Anna sent a Happy Birthday too, and Liz was busy working a fascinating theft case. All alone, Damon had desperately wished for everything to be right.

Even now, as he finds himself simply driving aimlessly around town, his wishes for everything.

Damon finally slows his car next to a remote park in the town; his thoughts speeding was too fast for him to safely continue driving. He absently notes how it is dark, and a glance at the clock proves it is 10:27 p.m. He wishes for a decent birthday, one that he can want to remember forever. He wishes for his brother to finally get better and finally Damon accepts just how much he needs and loves his brother. He wishes for real friends to love and appreciate him, friends that will actually remember his birthday and help him make it memorable. He wishes to finally be loved the most, for all the anger to finally leave him.

He wishes to be happy.

But of course, he doesn't have all these things. He doesn't really have _any_ of these things. His brother is sick, his friends don't care, this birthday will unnecessarily suck, and love eludes him every time.

He can't help it— the angry tears flow down his cheeks, coursing hot, angry streams down his face. They eventually peter off, but before Damon gets a grip on his emotions, new pained tears have already formed and are failing down his cheeks. He sobs for hours; it feels, but its only twenty minutes. When someone clears their throat from the passenger seat he hurriedly wipes his tears away and a half-hearted smirk lights his face.

But when he notices the person, his mouth drops open and the frown disappears. "Rose?"

She grins, that same, teasing smile. "Happy Birthday, Damon."

He's touched— she's the first person to actually mean her congratulations. She playfully shifts in her seat to face him and lightly places a tender kiss to his cheek. His eyes widen. He can feel her. He can actually feel the kiss from a person whom he had driven a stake through because she was his friend. "How—"

"No questions, Damon," Rose cuts in, her tone its usual bossy tone. It tugs a smile from Damon. This feels so familiar, and that's good because he still isn't sure what the hell was going on.

"We have a surprise party to get too," Rose instructs, buckling her seat. Damon raises his eyes, fresh waves of pain arising as he admits that no one threw him one. Rose only waves this off and impatiently motions for him to drive. "Nonsense. I threw you one. Now come on, we can't be late. You can't miss the fun."

He tries to ask more questions but she refuses to answer, ignoring his pointless questions as he begins to head downtown. "Just go to The Grill," is all she says, and he begrudgingly listens. As he parks, he notices the parking lot is extremely full and wonders just how grand the party is. He glances to the passenger seat to ask Rose, but finds where she once was is empty. Frowning, he unbuckles and leaves the car, locking his Mustang behind him.

When he enters, the clock is pushing 11:02 p.m. The large, loud crowd instantly turns to him and all chorus an enthusiastic, "Happy Birthday!"

Damon smiles, shocked. Then he pushes aside the depressing thoughts that haunted him all day and smirks and yells, "Happy Birthday to me!"

The people cheer and laugh, and on his way through the thick sea of people to the bar Damon is wished 'happy birthday' by countless people he doesn't know. He smiles and nods anyway, finally please that some people remember his birthday. Even if it isn't the people that matter.

He reaches the bar at 11:07, and with a drink in hand he surveys the party. Great music flooding The Grill, people laughing and dancing— happiness. But across the room his eyes meet Stefan's tired green eyes and his kid brother mouths, _Happy Birthday_. Damon nod in response, pleased, his easy smile from 1862 back on his face as he remembers his last happy human birthday with Stefan.

"_Happy Birthday, brother," Stefan said, pulling him in for a celebratory hug. Claire Forbes smiled and curtsied and said softly, "Happy Birthday, Damon."_

_Stefan sent a last happy look at Damon before reaching for Claire and leading her onto the dancing area. The musicians provided a slow, lovely tune and Damon turned to his right, looking down at Melanie Gilbert. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his eyes twinkling as he pressed a tender kiss to her gloved hand._

_Melanie smiled, her light hazel eyes lighting up and she grinned coyly, "Or course, Mr. Salvatore."_

_He chastely kissed her cheek, uncaring if anyone saw, and led her to dance. They slowly turned the room, lost, content, peaceful and happy in each other. Her gold hair and light blue formal dressed swished behind her, contrasting heavily with his dark suit._

_Damon couldn't imagine anything better than this. It was absolute perfection. _

In the crowd he spots Alaric, whom he promptly ignores, not bothering to allow anger arouse in him at his surprise party. He notices Caroline, who looks slightly guilty, and purposefully turns his back when she moves to approach him. Bonnie is standing right by her side, her nose still stuck high in the air. Jeremy is behind them, and raises a hand in greeting as he wraps his arms around Bonnie. All the same, Damon turns away, tired of feeling the hurt they always seems to cause him. No pain, no fury, not tonight. Tomorrow was another day.

Rose suddenly appears next to him once more, and he leans to whisper in her ear, "Thank you."

She nods and her eyes are bright. "That's what friends are for, Damon."

He nods again, completely spent of feeling anything more than tremendous happiness. This is how it should be. This is what is what he wants. This is _perfection_.

Suddenly the room quiets, and Damon is hoisted by random men onto the bar. From there he notes that it's 11:10, and only seventeen seconds until 11:11 p.m. on 11/11/11. The crowd wildly cheers from him, and he grins, pleased to be at the center of attention.

Then his eyes fall on _her_.

She's next to Stefan, like always, and as he dances on the bar, encouraged by the ladies' hoots, he finally accepts that she probably always be. He had no right to yell about how Stefan was the obvious center of her world, when he had tied to same thing to her.

_Ten…_

He needed to move on, not solely spend the rest of her life pining for her. And why should he? He could use these years to learn new things, maybe actually make something of himself. Maybe finally live up to his father's expectations, years and years after his father's death.

_Nine…_

Her eyes meet his and he knows it's the right thing to do. Not to be that mam for her, not to be the hero she always wanted from him, but to finally be the good person. To finally be the person who made the right decisions and choices because of who he was, and who he could always grow to be.

_Eight…_

He nods once to her, and their agreement had definitely shifted. He notes that the look in her sad brown eyes isn't exactly the look of gratitude and relief he had expected, but then again she never lived up to his expectations.

_Seven…_

But he does it anyone. He gives up his silent battle for her, knowing that when she's ready, she'll finally come.

_Six…_

And he knows one day she'll be ready.

_Five…_

His gaze shifts away from him and he loses himself as the crowd parts and a huge cake is wheeled in front of him. He jumps down from the bar and stands in front of it, wryly noticing that the cake only has twenty-five candles, the age he should have turned for his next birthday. Before everything changed.

The lights are cut off and the dangling twinkling lights and Chinese lanterns, along with the candles, provide the only light in the room. The crowd counts down, and they fade into the distant darkness.

_Three…_

_Two..._

_One…_

The clock strikes 11:11.

"Make a wish, Damon," Rose whispers in his ear, suddenly reappearing again. And he does.

He blows out the candles, and for a moment he's lost, frozen in time. The faces of everyone he has ever loved swims across the darkness, shadows dancing across their faces because of the candles. His mother, her kind blue and intelligent eyes smiling as she says in her comforting voice, "Happy Birthday, Damon. I love you."

His father, love and pride drawn across his face as he says the same thing.

Each face dances past him, all offering the same words. Stefan. Melanie. His old friends from his childhood, his fellow soldiers as he fought for a cause he didn't believe in. The slave boys he grew up with, whom he treated as equals. Katherine. Rose. And in some way, Andie.

They all pass around him, covering him with their gold warmth and halos before slowly fading into a gold dust to cover him with heartfelt and joyful expressions. He can finally feel warmth he realizes, but the thought is quickly blown from his mind when he sees her.

Elena. She stays the longest, watching him with her dark eyes as she whispers, "Happy Birthday, Damon. I love you."

He watches her as he blows the candles out, forever remembering the curve of her lips and the happy smile she gives, filled with love for him. He memorizes the curve of her neck, the way the candle light is reflected in her dark, knowing eyes.

Then the candles are simply blown out and she disappears, and the noise of the crowd comes rushing back. Everyone offers their congratulations and the next sound loudly begins.

_Happy Birthday._

_I love you._

He finds her eyes across the crowded room; the noise seemingly fades away once more. He's finally let her go, let her be free now. He's finally let himself be happy. He's finally let himself remember all that he lost, remember the feelings he had hidden away, remember the man he used to be.

He's forgiven Katherine, he's forgiven his father finally, making peace with the thought that Giuseppe loved his mother completely, that he loved the way Damon did. The way Damon always will. He's gotten over his jealousy of Stefan.

But most of all, Damon's forgiven himself. The war that had raged inside him for years had finally ended; his humanity victorious.

Elena inclines her head to him, and Damon smiles genuinely, the harsh words spoken earlier forgiven. He turns away and grins at the girl next to him, his smile feeling more real than it has in ages. He hasn't felt this peaceful since Melanie. Out of the corner of his eyes he catches sight of Rose leaving, and she smiles with a sad happiness. Before he knows it she's gone.

The noise of the party still hasn't returned completely yet, and Damon talks with the girl still immersed in the calm sea of his thoughts. He absently notes her name is Meredith.

He got his wish after all, he thinks much later at midnight, when he finally manages to convince Elena to dance with him after Stefan left, a tired content smile on his face. A slow song comes on and he pulls her to the floor. It isn't until she rests her head on his chest does he notice it. That he_ feels_ it.

His heartbeat.

She looks up at him in amazement. "Damon," she says softly. Her eyes are bright and dark with an emotion he now recognizes. Love.

He looks down at her, mirroring the expression, and only holds her more tightly, never wanting to let go. Somehow, he's finally complete. He's found a way to live again. She kisses his cheek softly and he accepts the kiss, holding on to it briefly before letting it drift to the shadows provided by the lights twinkling from the rafters where they were hung. The moment is flawless.

Pure.

And he loves that it is real. It may be all she can give him tonight, and he realizes that he can only give part of himself to her too. He will no longer love blindly, foolishly, covering the pain and thorns of love with an innocent mask. But he'll wait as long as he can. He no longer has forever.

And as Damon slowly spins Elena under the beautiful lights, he knows that this moment is right. It's everything it should be.

He's happy, even though he just lost his forever.

_I wish to finally find my happiness._

_ I wish to be human again._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Read and Review!<strong>


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